Not As Planned
by Mistmantle
Summary: Ensemble backstories based on "Risk Assessment." Initial chapters for everyone are up! Everyone from the squad is included, not just those tagged. If you have ideas, let me know (:
1. Sharon

_**a/n- I'm hoping this will can be an ensemble backstory for all of them, sorta based from what was in tonight's episode (Risk Assessment). I'd like to involve everyone, but uni starts again in a little under two weeks, and. . . well, there goes my free time, haha. Let me know what you think.**_

"Jack?"

"Yeah?" Jack Raydor looked up from the textbook he was reading. It lay on the coffee table of his tiny student housing apartment, with an array of notes and papers. Finals started in two days, and he wanted to make sure he was ready. There would be no second chances.

"Look at this." Sharon, his long-standing girlfriend, and (hopefully) soon-to-be fiancée, slid a newspaper across the table to him.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

She ran her slim fingers down the classifieds, reading upside-down. "The L.A.P.D is looking for new recruits. $46,583 per year. That'd pay for a lot of school."

He stared at the large ad. _The Los Angeles Police Department is now recruiting. Applicants must have a high-school degree or equivalent. Starting salary is $46,583, DOE. Apply in person at Parker Center front desk. _"Shar, what about your classes?"

She shrugged. "I'd rather have a job and take classes at night or over the summer and come out with less debt than graduate on time. Your costs are $40,000, including tuition and everything, and that job could cover that."

He looked down again, frowning. "What about your classes?"

She looked away. "I can go part-time, nine credit hours, one-twenty per hour. So that's-" She paused to calculate the answer in her head. "One thousand and eighty. We could manage that, I think, with your job to pay for groceries and gas."

Jack watched her. She fidgeted, twisting her auburn hair around one finger. Even a part-time law student had a lot of work to do. "Are you sure you can manage a full-time job with-"

She shook her head once, cutting him off. "I think so. Even if I can't do it, that job would get you through school."

"Shar, it's not just about me."

"You've got a better shot at being a lawyer. You've got better grades, and just. . . I can't wrap my head around cases like you can."

They were silent for several minutes. A bus passed outside, and the neighbors' bass rumbled through the wall.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." It came out as a breathy half-sigh. They both knew the likely outcome of such a deal. She wouldn't get her diploma for some time, maybe never.

"Okay. I'll drive downtown with you tomorrow."

"Thank you."

"Thank you, Shar."


	2. Buzz

_**a/n- Here's Buzz! Thanks for the reviews, everyone! And yeah, if you have suggestions, get let me know. (:**_

"Buzz, please don't do this."

"But-"

Mrs. Watson stepped forward and hugged her son tightly. They were standing near the kitchen table, spread with letters of acceptance from several colleges and a lone application for the Los Angeles Police Academy. "Buzz, you're the only one I have left, and-" she choked and was quiet, refusing to let him go.

He held her tightly. Her wispy blonde hair tickled his nose. "You've got Casey."

"I know, Buzzy. I love her dearly, but it's not quite the same."

He was surprised by her frankness, but knew what she meant. He was the last tie to his father, his brother. "Mom, I want to prevent. . . things. . . from happening to people like us."

"I know, believe me, I know. There are other ways to do this, though, safer ways."

He sighed. He knew his mother would be opposed to his joining the L.A.P.D., but he had thought he'd be able to talk her around. It clearly wasn't going to happen. They had been talking, shouting, and even crying for the past hour. Casey and Ed, Buzz's stepfather, had quietly slipped out of the house, mumbling something about needing milk. They had been gone for almost fifty minutes, now, Buzz noted. He broke away from his mother and turned to look at the letters of acceptance.

There was one from USC, his first choice after the Academy. USC had accepted him for film school. He had spoken, at length, to the L.A.P.D. recruiter, and had been told that they accepted civilians for positions inside the force. They would take a guy with a film degree, the recruiter said. A cameraman could film crime scenes for departments like Robbery-Homicide, Vice and Narco, or Priority Homicide.

"Buzz?" his mother asked. She laid one hand tentatively on his shoulder and looked at the papers he held.

"I guess I'd better mail my acceptance to USC," he said finally. "They need to be post-marked by Friday, and USC has the best scholarships and teachers."

"Thank you, baby."

"Yeah." He'd get there eventually. Maybe it wasn't the most direct route, but he'd get there.


	3. Andy

_**a/n- It's the holiday special! haha. I got another chapter done today, courtesy of winter break. I'm having fun with this, and I hope you are, too. Wishing you the best this season! Please review if you've the time. **_

"Look at her."

"She's a beaut," Andy agreed. He and Tim, his older brother were kneeling behind the hedge in front of their house. Their cousin, Matthew, had driven over for Sunday dinner on his new Honda CB77 motorcycle. It stood near the curb, chrome and navy trim sparkling in the sunlight.

"She'd be the only girlfriend I'd ever need."

Andy snorted. He was only twelve, but even he knew you couldn't marry a bike. Tim was sixteen, had just started high school, and seemed to have something to say about every girl that walked past.

"You can't have kids with a motorcycle, dummy."

Tim rolled his eyes. "It was a joke, Andy." He stared at the bike a moment longer, then turned to Andy, eyes shining with glee. "What if we took her for a joyride?"

Andy fell back on his heels. "Really? Would Matt let us?"

"The whole point of a joyride is for it to be secret." Tim glanced back to the bike. "Matt brought Stephanie, didn't he?"

"Yeah, I saw her go in." Stephanie was Matt's girlfriend, blonde and most certainly not of Italian heritage. It had irritated Matt's dad until he realized that Steph was a phenomenal baker. The complaints had stopped rather quickly after that. "Why?"

"We're gonna need helmets. You get the helmets and I'll get the keys."

Andy paused, halfway to the front door. "Are you sure this is okay?"

"Yeah, bro. It'll be fine."

Andy darted inside and spotted the helmets on the floor near the over-large basket of shoes his mother kept by the door. Both helmets were obviously new, maybe just a little too large for a twelve-year old. One was a gleaming navy that seemed as deep as the ocean, the other was a vibrant bubblegum pink. He snatched them both and was almost back out the door, when-

"Andy, is that you?" He recognized his mother's voice from across the house. She was in the kitchen, cooking dinner.

"I'm just going back outside with Tim. We're playing dead man." He didn't particularly like lying to his parents, but he liked it better than the consequences for some of the things he and his brothers got up to. They'd locked Susan out on the roof once. One winter, it had snowed, and they'd busted someone's windshield with an ice-ball. On accident, of course.

"Alright." She sounded skeptical, and Andy winced. "Tell Tim that dinner's in thirty minutes. I expect both of you in here on time, okay? Steph, Matt, Uncle Luke, and Aunt Mary are all going to be here."

"Yep." He shut the door and ran back to Tim. "Mom said that we have to be in for dinner in half an hour. I think she really means it."

Tim waved him off. "Sure. Toss me the blue one."

Andy stared at the navy helmet wistfully for a moment, then passed it to Tim. "Did you get the keys?" he asked as he strapped on his own helmet.

"Yeah. Now let's get going." Tim helped Andy onto the bike. "Hold on to me." He fumbled for the ignition.

"Do you know how to drive this?"

"Sure. I've seen tons of movies. And it can't be that different from driving a car."

It took a few minutes of whispered swearing, praying, and general fiddling around before the Honda finally started. Tim eased it down the street, keeping the noise to a minimum, then turned the corner shakily.

"Let 'er rip!" Andy shrieked.

Tim grinned, revved the machine, and they sped down the road, maintaining an almost straight course.


	4. Julio

_**a/n- I have free time today. . . beware (;**_

"Julio! _Ven adentro! Es hora de dormir!"_

Julio Sanchez sat in his dusty backyard, near Osa's little grave, thinking. He had been sitting there for most of the evening. His parents had repeatedly called him to come in for bed, but he ignored them, choosing to stay out and plan his revenge.

For a brief while, he had contemplated finding a gun and hunting down the two guys in the car. He had memorized the plate number, and guns weren't hard to find. Then his little brother Oscar had come outside to help hold vigil for Osa. Shooting two gangsters wouldn't present a good example for Oscar, Julio decided.

He had thought about various other ways to get back: slash their tires, egg their houses. Every idea was discarded, though, generally because it would be traceable back to Julio. Gangsters didn't tolerate pain-in-the-ass thirteen-year-olds, so Julio knew his revenge had to be untraceable.

"Julio!"

"_Un momento, _Mama!"

"Julio!" This time, it was his father's deep voice calling him.

Julio cast one last look towards the flowers over Osa's grave, then scrambled to his feet and ran inside. "_Lo siento, _Papa."

His father merely shrugged slightly and squeezed his son's shoulder with one large hand. He knew his son had had some kind of deep connection with that cat, and had taken the loss hard. "It's alright. Listen to your mama now, though. Go to bed. It'll be better in the morning."

Julio nodded. "'Night, Papa. 'Night Mama."

_"Buenas noches_."

He ducked down the hall to the shared bathroom, brushed his teeth, went to the room he shared with Oscar, and changed into his pajamas. Oscar was already asleep, so Julio was quiet as he padded to his bed near the window. He knelt to pray, kept it simple, asked God to keep Osa safe in heaven, then, as an afterthought, asked God to help him catch Osa's killers. It might not have been the best thing to ask for, but it was what he wanted, wanted so deeply it made his heart ache.

He lay in his bed, unable to fall asleep. The moonlight crept slowly across the room through the window as the night wore on. Julio watched the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. No new ideas had sprung to mind, when suddenly, he heard sirens.

He sat up in bed, as the sirens screamed, coming closer. After a few moments, three cop cars shrieked down the street, their lights flashing through the room in a whirl of magenta and indigo. A moment later, they vanished around the corner.

Julio sat back on his bed. The L.A.P.D. was out in force tonight to catch some scumbag. "Thank you," he whispered. "_Gracias a Dios_. I will be a cop, Osa. I will find them."


	5. Amy

_**a/n- I hope you are having good holidays. Warmest wishes to everyone!**_

"Amy?"

"Yes, Mom?"

"Can you help me set the table?"

"Sure." Amy rose from her seat on the sofa and slipped into the kitchen to help her mother. Lydia Sykes and Amy's younger sister, Jordan, were busy cooking Christmas dinner. Almost everything was done, Lydia was just putting things on serving dishes, and Jordan was fixing salad. Amy hadn't done much of the cooking.

Christmas was usually Amy's favorite holiday, but this year, she had a lot on her mind. She had just finished her military service, a tour in Kabul, and was feeling somewhat lost without a distinct objective to accomplish. Her family had picked her up from the airport, brought her home, and coddled her for the past two weeks. She liked being able to sleep in on Saturdays, liked playing with her nieces and nephews, liked the security of her own home, but there was still something missing.

"How many settings?" she asked.

"Sixteen," her mother replied. "Five at the children's table and twelve at the regular table. Everyone's coming over."

_Sweet Jesus_, Amy thought. _Her sister's kids, her brothers' three, their spouses, a great-aunt, and an assortment of aunts and uncles. _"Sure."

"What's on your mind, baby?" Lydia was still stirring something over the stove, and Amy couldn't see her face. Jordan picked up a tray of crackers and cheese and ducked back out to the living room.

"Just a few things," Amy replied vaguely. "Gold or rose china?"

"Let's use the gold."

Amy took the appropriate dishes out of a cabinet and began setting the table. The sounds of Michael Bublé drifted in faintly from the other room.

"I can always tell when you're thinking about something, Bunny." The use of her old pet name startled Amy. She hadn't heard the term in ages. "Tell me what it is."

Amy considered her options for a moment. She could tell her mother she wasn't thinking of anything important, or she could just tell the truth. _The truth is _always_ the best option, and she'd figure it out anyway. _She opened her mouth and let the frank words spill out. "I need something to do, Mom. I mean, it's great that you've been so good about letting me stay here and do nothing, but I can't stay here forever. I just can't figure out what I want to do. Everything seems so. . ." She trailed off, at a rare loos for words. "So mundane! I felt like I was doing important work, and everything here just seems so mundane."

Lydia turned and raised her eyebrows. "That's not the Amy Sykes I know."

Amy sighed as she slid napkins under the forks. "I don't even know where to start, honestly."

Lydia began moving steamed carrots from the pan to a serving dish. As she finished, Amy took the dish and set it on the table. They continued in that fashion until everything was on the dining table.

"I'll go get everyone." Amy moved towards the living room, but her mother pulled her back.

"Amy, I think I know just the job for you," Lydia said, eyes sparkling.

"What?" Amy looked at her curiously.

"Go call everyone in for dinner, and then ask Mickey what he wants to be when he grows up."

Mickey was Amy's youngest nephew, only four years old. He was due to start kindergarten the following year, and was looking forward to it, from what she'd heard. He and his parents had arrived late, so Amy hadn't seen the boy yet. She nodded, then walked out to the living room.

"Dinner's ready, guys!" she called over the general noise. The hubbub subsided somewhat, and everyone swirled into the dining room to take their places. Amy hung back, and side-stepped to the kids' table. "Hey, Mickey-"

"AUNT AMY!" He hugged her legs tightly, and she smiled and ruffled his hair.

"Hey, bud." She knelt down. "Gramma had a question she wanted me to ask you."

"Yeah?"

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I wanna be a please offer."

She paused. "Police officer?"

"Yeah!"

She pushed him gently towards his chair. "Thanks, Mick. Go eat your dinner, I think Sammy's waiting for you." She stood and found the last open chair at the table, next to her mother. Her father blessed the meal, and they dug in.

Lydia passed a bowl of salad down the table and turned to Amy. "So? What do you think?"

"A police officer?"

"It's not mundane. It sounds like you. And God knows, the L.A.P.D. is always hiring people."

Amy looked down at her plate and took a sip of water. Lydia was right, policing was a lot like her last job. _Maybe too much. _She wasn't sure she wanted to be right back in that kind of field so soon. But at the same time, it was what she'd been looking for. "Maybe."

"Maybe not?" Lydia asked. She had read into Amy's pause.

"I don't know yet." She thought back to the letters from colleges that had greeted her from the mailbox when she'd first arrived home. "Maybe I'll try school again and see where that takes me."

"School?" Lydia sounded slightly surprised.

"Most jobs require some kind of college degree. And it's not like I don't have money saved up."

Lydia hummed noncommittally. "School might be nice for you. You could make some friends, have some fun."

"Yeah, maybe." _College would be a good start. There would be any number of opportunities stemming from a college diploma. I could be anything I want, and it'll be exciting, without being too much at once. _"I think I might look over some of those letters tomorrow."

"Alright."


	6. Lou

_**A/N- I'm really sorry. I said there would be more chapters coming soon, and it's been a long time. I do have some other chapters lined up; it's just kinda hard getting the initial bits all hashed out. I hope you enjoy this. I'd appreciate reviews. (: **_

"Name?"

"Louis Provenza."

"Age?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Do you have your papers from the physical eval?"

"Yeah." Lou pulled the slightly crumpled two-page packet out of his back pocket. "Here."

The recruiting officer took them with a raised eyebrow and unfolded them, smoothing them as best he could. "Psych eval?"

"They wouldn't give 'em to me, kid. Think they were worried I'd screw with them."

The officer's face reddened, but he was clearly several years younger.

"Some respect, please."

Lou snorted. "Kid, this is respect. I can show you dis-"

"Why do you want to join the LAPD?" the boy interrupted.

"I tried the LAFD for a while, but I've decided I'm not to keen on fire." _Once burned, twice cautious. _

"You have to expect to fire and be fired upon-"

"Not guns, kid. Flames." Lou sat up and leaned forward. "I'm not doing fire anymore."

"But why the LAPD?"

He sighed and was quiet for a rare moment. "I like the idea of bossing people around."

The kid frowned. "Look-"

"I'm assuming my rank with transfer from the LAFD?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No, kid, you look." Lou tapped the desk with one knuckle. "I've been on the streets longer than you. I've seen more than you, rescued people from burning-" his voice cracked and he stopped. "There's some kind of. . . I don't know. It's nice to save people, to know you're doing something good in a scummy world. I can't live without it."

"You're an adrenaline junkie," the kid stated flatly.

Lou snorted, leaning back. "And you're an idiot if that's what you're getting out of this discussion." He stood. "Thanks for your time, _Officer._ I've used enough of it, and you're clearly looking for someone else." He saluted sarcastically and left the office. _Christ, Lou, you really blew it._

Russell Taylor set Louis Provenza's docket down on his desk. He felt like he shouldn't like the man, but something in the former firefighter seemed genuine, once one cut through the caustic exterior. Provenza had more experience than all the others who had walked through the door that day. He seemed quicker and more prepared. He'd passed the physical with flying colors, as well as the psych eval, though the latter suggested there was a possibility for trouble-making.

He'd take the risk. Taylor wrote up his recommendation in the appropriate space on the recruitment packet, signed the bottom with a flourish, and set it in his outbox. Provenza would be getting a call within the next few days, notice of a sign-on bonus and a new job as a Sergeant in Robbery-Homicide.


	7. Mike

**_A/N- Murphycat- Thanks! I'm glad the characters seem right to you. (: As for Taylor, I don't think he was necessarily nicer then, I think he just had less experience, both on the job and with Provenza. Also, I'm not entirely clear about how much med. school Tao had. Some sources say one year, but I just recall him saying something non-specific. Idk (:_**

"Mike, can you clear some room on the table?" Kathy held a glass pan in a set of hot mitts.

Mike Tao looked up. "Yeah, sure. Sorry about that." He waved a hand over the mess of papers over their kitchen table. He was partway through his fellowship year as a traumatologist. The more time that passed, the more paperwork he seemed to generate. He reached across the table and gathered the multi-colored papers into stacks. There was mint green, lavender, blue, yellow, pink, and white.

"You've got a veritable rainbow there," Kathy said gently as she set plates and silverware down. Her long, black hair swung across her face as she leaned forward to slice lasagna. She had layered spinach, sausage, alfredo, ricotta, and noodles.

"It seems like everything I do equates to paperwork. One stitch is four pages. An x-ray? A solid half-hour of forms." He sighed tiredly. "I'm sorry. Work and home are separate." He set the stacks on the spare chairs and pushed his pens neatly to the side.

"It's fine," Kathy said. "I know it's hard to keep up." She took a bite of her lasagna.

"That's no reason for me to take it out here." He leaned over to Kathy and kissed her. She squeaked in surprise. He pulled back after a moment, and she reached up and swiped her thumb across his lip.

"You had some alfredo there," she said, grinning. He smiled back, and the conversation took a lighter turn. They talked about Kathy's day, her job at Eastside Elementary, teaching kindergarden. How there was a new kid, all the way from Wyoming.

It wasn't until hours later, when they were getting ready for bed, that Kathy came back to the original subject. "Mike, did you ever think about changing professions?" She began to pull her hair back in a French braid.

He spat out his toothpaste. "What?"

"Ever since you've been on the fellowship, you've had so much paperwork. Even in residency, you were telling me about how it seemed like doctors spent as much time covering their-" she paused. "Covering themselves as stabbing their friends in the back."

"Yeah." He picked the mouthwash up from the counter and took a mouthful. He swished it around, then bent over the sink and spat it out. "What were you thinking?"

"Emmy's father came in to pick her up. He's just joined the LAPD."

"The police?"

"Mmhmm." Kathy turned and walked out. "He was talking about how much he loved it. Said he had already met a bunch of great guys," she called from the bedroom.

Mike looked at himself in the mirror tiredly. Hell, he _looked_ tired. He fingered his mustache slowly. Maybe it was time to give up the scalpel. He'd been working towards a medical career for years, but he'd never really, _truly_, enjoyed it. At first, it was to please his parents. Then he found pre-med classes to be legitimately interesting. It kept getting better after that, until he had enough responsibility to see his own patients and do his own paperwork. So far, he'd been lucky enough to make more friends than enemies. It seemed like the smarter you were, the more friends you had.

It was only a matter of time, though, before someone's knife made it past his armor and stabbed him in the back.

He turned towards the door. "Hey, Kathy?"

"Yeah?"

"Did Emmy's dad say if the LAPD was hiring?"

He heard a laugh. "I'm not Wikipedia, I can't keep giving out information for free."

He smiled to himself. "Well, what forms of payment do you accept? Visa, Mastercard?" he asked jokingly.

"Come here, and I'll show you."


	8. Officer Raydor

**_A/N- Here's round two! This is about the time Sharon shot someone, if it's not your thing, feel free to skip (: It's not in depth or anything._**

"Hey, Jack!"

Jack Raydor turned to face his ALA, Chris. He and Sharon still lived in student housing, even though they had been married almost a year before, in the summer after she graduated academy. They had moved to the school-owned apartments on the edge of campus, as it was cheaper than any other place in town.

"Hey, Chris," he replied. He shifted his books to his other arm and waited for the other man to catch up. "How's it going?"

"Oh, fine. I've only got two more finals, and they're going to be pretty easy."

"That's good. The same for me." Jack made a motion to keep moving, but Chris pulled him back. "What?" Jack frowned slightly.

"Everything okay with you and Sharon?" he asked. "I'm sorry to pry, but I just gotta keep up with my residents. . ."

"Yeah, no, I understand," Jack said. He frowned deeply. "We're good. Why?"

"Annie said something to me just a little while ago. Said she saw Sharon come in and she seemed pretty upset."

Jack shook his head. "I just got here. She left for work before I got up this morning. She got a couple of long shifts. She was fine then."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything."

"Sure. Thanks for the heads up." Jack waved and walked the last few feet to his apartment. The door was unlocked, so he let himself in quietly and set his books and bag down on the coffee table. "Sharon?"

There was no response, but he could hear the shower running. He kicked his shoes off and walked back to the bathroom. Again, the door was unlocked. He pushed it open. "Shar? You in there?"

"Go away, Jack."

There wasn't much force in her words, so he let himself in, and nearly tripped over Sharon's uniform. It was in a crumpled heap in the middle of the floor. He stepped over it and pushed the shower curtain back enough for him to see her. He kept his eyes firmly on her face until he realized she was still wearing her underwear and a tanktop. There was a pinkish stain spattered across her chest.

"Sharon? What happened?" He reached forward and pushed the wet strands of her hair away from her face.

"Nothing," she said sharply.

He leaned against the shower silently, knowing she'd tell him. The water sprayed him, but he stayed, watching her. After another minute, he reached down and turned the water off. She stood still, water dripping, then sobbed loudly.

"Oh, Shar," he sighed. He reached forward and picked her up, holding her close and carrying her to the bedroom. He snatched a towel on the way out and fumbled it onto the bed before setting Sharon down on it. He laid down next to her and swept her hair back again. "What happened?"

She squirmed closer to him, and he wrapped his arms around her as best he could. She mumbled something into his chest.

"What?"

"I shot somebody."

Jack jerked back slightly to see her face. She looked like a tearful basset hound. "Tell me what happened."

She ducked her face back into his chest. "We pulled this guy over for a traffic stop and he came out with a gun. He kept coming towards us, and I told him to stop, but he didn't stop, and I told him to drop the gun, and he didn't and then he raised it up and shot at us and I think it was a warning shot because it was way off, and then he aimed again and-" she cut herself off and clung to Jack tightly.

He jumped slightly at the sudden pressure and returned it.

"I shot him," she whispered. "Oh my God, I shot him."

"Did you kill him?" Jack asked softly.

She twitched and shook her head. "No. I mean, I don't think so. I don't know. I just. . . there was this bang, and he fell down and Arthur was calling for back-up and an ambulance. And I don't know. It's all blurry. I think- I know- FID came and they took my gun, and I guess I told them what happened and they put me on administrative leave for the next. . . Oh my God, I don't know. I don't even know when I can go back to work, Jack!" She started crying, so he just lay there and held her.

"Shar, you don't have to go back if you don't want to."

She looked up at him. "No, we need the money."

Jack tipped her chin up with a finger. "We don't need it that badly, love. We can find something else."

"Nothing like this. It pays well and it's secure. That's what we need. You still have two more years of school and we need my job to pay for that. I don't want to take out loans, and your internship doesn't pay enough." She took a deep breath. "Besides, I'll get over this. I'm pretty sure I'll be cleared, and then I can get back to work, and everything will be normal again."

He watched her calm herself with fiats and pragmatism, knowing that once she'd set her mind to something, she'd accomplish it somehow. "Okay. But if you change your mind, we'll figure something out. Okay?"

"Okay," she mumbled.

They lay in silence for an indefinite amount of time before the phone rang. Sharon jumped and rolled off the bed in a single, fluid motion, lunging for the receiver.

"Hello?" she said breathlessly.

Jack came to stand next to her, and she tilted the phone so he could hear, too.

"Is this Sharon Raydor?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"Hey, this is Andy Flynn, from Vice? We met, uh, earlier?"

"Oh, yeah," she said. "I already talked to someone from your department, I think."

"Yeah, yeah, you did," the man sounded vaguely impatient. "But look, I heard it on the grapevine that FID is gonna get you cleared by tomorrow morning. They've got some sorta deadline, and the guy you shot wasn't hurt bad or anything, and they've got something else on their hands, so they're trying to get you through their hands as fast as they can."

"Oh."

"Yeah, just wanted to let you know. I was in there a little while ago and heard them talking. You didn't hear it from me, but you've got a lot of cops rooting for you, and we thought you ought to know."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, sure." The man rang off, and Sharon looked at Jack.

"That's good," he said."

"It is. But it's completely illegal for him to tell me that."

Jack laughed. "Shar, illegal or not, I would buy him a drink for bending the rules like that. It's like a white lie. It's not a bad thing."

She snorted. "Jackson Raydor. You are a _law_ student."

He grinned at her. "And your point is? Come on, let's go finish that shower."


End file.
